


A Very Difficult Pose

by goseaward



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-18 19:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: It's the Met Gala, and it's camp. Harry should probably admit in public that he isn't straight.





	A Very Difficult Pose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeraphStarshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphStarshine/gifts).



> Harry's (and Alessandro's) red carpet interview is a very slightly edited version of [this interview with Vogue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUfElcG0LNs). You should watch it: the interviewer sings a little song about how pretty Harry is (to a familiar melody) before he gets close enough to talk to. Some of Sinead's entertainment news wording is shamelessly copied from [her actual 2018 Met Gala report](https://magog83.tumblr.com/post/173711763815/in-which-nick-and-sinead-discuss-the-incredible#permalink-notes) (with thanks as always to magog83 for her service to the community). The title is, of course, from "Notes on Camp."
> 
> Thanks to [Vae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae) for beta-reading and Britpicking and [hllangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/pseuds/Hllangel) for helping me figure out what Nick would wear. Any remaining errors are my own. SeraphStarshine, thanks so much for this wonderful Harry-coming-out prompt that let me write a thing that had been percolating in my head, and thanks to the mods for running this exchange!

Harry sent a car to pick Nick up from JFK on Friday afternoon. He wasn't actually that busy, but it was hard to have a reunion in the car—better by far to let the stream of texts build up on his phone along with his anticipation, waiting for the moment Nick would be—

Standing in his door, all six-foot-whatever of lanky boyfriend, smiley even with the smudged too-tired transatlantic flight look about him. Harry yanked him forward into the entry and magnanimously let Nick drop his bags before he jumped him. 

"Hi," Harry said, bringing his mouth in for a kiss. 

Nick bit Harry's lip, just a little, the way Harry liked. "Hello," he said, his voice quiet and confidential, the way it only ever was in private. He kissed Harry's nose. "Hello"—cheekbone—"hello"—eyebrow, for some reason—"hello"—that place right by the corner of Harry's jaw that always made his knees a little wobbly—"hello, popstar face, I've missed you," back to Harry's mouth. 

Not that Harry didn't appreciate the effort, but he twined his fingers through the newly short hair on the back of Nick's head as best he could and held on so Nick had to stay where he was, at Harry's mouth, long enough that Harry could really get into it. He hadn't seen Nick in person in a few weeks and he needed to remember how it felt to have him here, close enough to touch.

When Harry started to get handsy below the belt, Nick pulled back just far enough to say, "Are you gonna shag me against the wall in your hall, then?" His lips still caught on Harry's when he spoke. Harry felt him laugh as Harry turned to eye the wall—there wasn't really enough room, but it was tempting anyway—before he finally let Nick go and grabbed his hand instead. "Good," Nick said, "'cause I need a shower after that flight."

Well. Harry could blow him in the shower as well as anywhere.

Nick only looked a little surprised when Harry stripped off and followed him in. But, after all, Harry had bought the place with the big fuck-off shower stall and fancy rainshower head for a reason, and that reason was shower sex. He tried to be helpful, handing over shower gel and a loofah and all the other frou-frou stuff he knew Nick liked, as Nick narrated the little annoyances of the trip over. He was rewarded by getting to watch Nick wash himself off: he wasn't trying to be sexy or anything, but he was really here, right here, where Harry could touch. His long long legs, furred chest, newly toned arms. They hadn't been together the whole time they'd known each other, but it had been off and on since Nick had broken up with the boyfriend he'd had when they met. Or, been broken up with by, Harry thought to himself, still irate that anyone could let Nick go. Even if he had done it himself a few times—because he was a fool. Still—they'd known each other long enough that Harry could remember Nick in lots of different ways, softer and harder, hair longer and shorter and several different colours, and always his big friendly face and his eyes that saw Harry the way Harry always wanted to be seen.

"Can I do your hair?" Harry asked, and Nick raised his eyebrows. But he turned around and let Harry lather up the shampoo. Nick rinsed it out himself and then stepped forward, out of the spray, so Harry could follow it up with conditioner. Nick's hair felt thick and soft, even wet, and Harry kissed Nick on the back of the shoulder as he moved back to rinse his hands.

"Do I get to watch you now?" Nick asked, turning around, and his eyes went a little wide when Harry dropped to his knees instead. 

"I'm gonna fall on me arse and die," Nick said, but he put his hands in Harry's hair the way he liked, so Harry ignored it as he was obviously meant to. He held onto Nick's hip with one hand and brought Nick's cock up to his face with the other, let his tongue drag around the head before pushing his mouth down. Everything was very wet: Nick was mostly out of the spray but Harry was right in the centre of it, water hitting the back of his head and neck and running everywhere, all over his body, dripping down onto his own dick where it was hard and untouched between his thighs. He even tasted different like this, just washed, mostly tasting of the water in Harry's shower and not like Nick at all. 

Harry could move out of the spray, but there was something he liked about it. White noise that blocked out all of the world except Nick, under his hands, in his mouth. He sucked hard and worked his tongue, remembering what Nick liked, wondering how long it would take him to come—was he as desperate as Harry was? No, probably not, Nick didn't like to play denial games with himself the way Harry did. 

Nick was combing his fingers through Harry's hair, tugging a little. "Gorgeous boy," he said quietly, and Harry felt warm, knowing Nick liked the way he looked, and liking the way Nick liked it. 

How long Nick took to come was long enough that the tile had dug red lines into Harry's knees, but not long enough that Harry's jaw was really starting to feel it yet. He gave enough warning that Harry was able to pull off and let Nick come on his chest, though the water washed it away too quickly. Once Harry had let go, Nick slid to the ground and laughed. "Look, told you I'd fall on me arse," he said.

"Doesn't count if you sit. You should rinse that conditioner out." He scooted a little closer so he was within arm's reach of Nick, and Nick took the hint and took Harry's cock in hand. Harry's eyes closed involuntarily as Nick stroked him. 

"Got more important things to do," Nick said. He grinned at Harry and pinched one of Harry's nipples with his free hand, making Harry wince and harden further in Nick's grip. He'd really underestimated how much it meant to be dating someone who knew him so well, knew what he liked and what made him tick. He was grateful, again, that he'd got another chance to make it work, that Nick had given him another chance. He pulled Nick closer and Nick got the idea, moving closer so he could pull Harry into his lap and kiss him. 

"Love you," Harry said when they pulled apart. 

Easily, Nick said, "You too." That was a triumph, too, of this most recent thing between them, that Nick could say it, and mean it, without it being dragged out of him. His hand sped up. "Did you want to come like this?" 

Harry nodded and curled forward to kiss him again, and Nick jerked him off hard and perfect until Harry came, shaking, all over his hand. Nick let his other arm wrap around Harry's back, holding him up as he collapsed bonelessly against Nick's shoulder. "That was nice," he said.

"Welcome to New York," Nick said.

Eventually they had to stand up and get out—Nick almost forgot the conditioner and Harry had to shove his head under the water to rinse it all out. Then Nick tried to put on a dressing gown, so Harry had to make a series of increasingly sad noises at him till he rolled his eyes and gave up. They flopped down on Harry's bed naked, and Harry tucked himself into Nick's side: the novelty of an in-person boyfriend still hadn't worn off. 

"How are you feeling?" Nick said, after a long period of comfortable silence.

Harry considered. "Could probably go again in a bit," he said. "I was, um. Waiting for you to visit before I—yeah."

"Oh, were you." Nick's voice was warm and full of promise, not surprised at all. They'd discussed this thing of Harry's before; Harry was hesitant to call it a kink, but— "How long?"

"Like—a week, I think?" Harry said. He brought up the hand he wasn't lying on so he could rest it on Nick's waist. He always felt touch-starved when he saw Nick again, even though he normally felt like he got enough casual contact. Like the way he rarely felt that hungry until he'd started cooking dinner, and then got ravenous. Waiting made it feel— He'd always liked to feel desperate around Nick: for his touch, his voice, the shape of him, the taste. Waiting made that sharper. "It had been a couple of days and then I thought, I'll save it up."

"Mm, yes, bucketloads of sperm, what a greeting."

"Ew!" Harry laughed and shook Nick a little. "No, I meant, like, how much I want you."

Nick rolled them both until he could reach Harry's mouth to snog him very thoroughly. It was still just a little too soon for Harry to get hard again, but oh, he wanted to. "And I appreciate it," Nick said. He started kissing down the side of Harry's neck and onto his shoulder, mouth hot enough to burn.

"No marks," Harry said, short of breath, as Nick gnawed gently at his collarbone.

"Not my first rodeo," Nick said.

Harry considered a pun about knowing Nick could ride, but he had more important things to say. "I mean—" Harry swallowed. "You could. After the Gala." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Nick's face went a little red: public was still new for them. "But the shirt is lace. Alessandro would kill me."

After a pause, Nick said, "Right. No bruises for at least 4 days."

"Think you can control yourself?"

"Never," Nick said, "around you."

Harry shuddered, and Nick pressed his face into the skin of Harry's chest for a long moment, breathing. 

Finally, Nick looked back up and him and rolled away. It was suddenly easier for Harry to think again—Nick always had that effect on him. "Anyway," Nick said, "I meant, how are you feeling about the Gala. And everything. But I guess you're feeling okay if you're thinking about public marking." Harry's toes curled at the tone in his voice.

But he took a moment to think before answering. Total honesty was the only way forward—they'd made enough mistakes to declare that as an ironclad rule when they'd chosen to commit to each other for real. So he didn't want to answer rashly and find he'd been lying to himself, either. "I'm nervous, but it doesn't change that I want to do it," he said finally.

Nick's fingers were gently stroking along Harry's spine, not soft enough to tickle. "Good," he said, grinning, "because I'm looking forward to the party."

"'s not a party, really. It's—"

"Boring, I know." Nick raised his eyebrows. "I made Aimee tell me all about it. No last-minute party crashers. I'm still looking forward to seeing you all dressed up, though."

"Thought you liked me undressed," Harry said, with his best cheeky smile.

"I like you however you're dressed." They were making so much eye contact Harry felt a little warm and fuzzy, awash on a sea of emotions, or maybe hormones. "Lace, you said?"

Harry got his elbow against the mattress and propped himself up, trying to feel more awake. "Yeah. Alessandro's a genius. Some of the clothes he's making for the Gala—not just mine, I mean, the other ones? And the ones he's wearing himself. Just gorgeous."

There was a smile lurking around the corners of Nick's mouth. "You got any details to add to that description?"

"That's no fun," Harry complained. "I mean, are you going to tell me what _you're_ wearing?"

Nick narrowed his eyes at him. "All right, don't tell me."

"You'll see on Monday," Harry said. "Oh, um. I'm getting my ear pierced tomorrow, by the way."

The laugh that Nick gave to that was one of Harry's favourite kinds: almost shouted, like it took Nick by surprise. "Sexy," Nick said, teasing. "Or are you about to kill me and steal my life, is that it? Earring's the last step? You really want an afternoon radio show of your very own?"

"It was Alessandro's idea," Harry protested, but he was laughing too. "Anyway, I'd rather have an afternoon radio show _DJ_ of my very own."

"Lucky for me I switched jobs, then."

"Yeah, I'd hate to have to date Greg James."

"Don't sell yourself short, you could also go for Scott Mills."

"How do you know I haven't?" Harry said.

Nick gave a full-body shudder and Harry laughed at him. "New rule, no hitting on my coworkers," Nick groaned.

"Mine either. I know Niall texts you." Not strictly a coworker any more, but Harry was willing to let that slide in the name of making fun of Nick.

"Okay. No more dick pics to Niall. Got it."

Pouting outrageously, Harry said, "You never send me dick pics."

"I send you enough aubergine emojis, though." 

"Those don't do you justice." Harry gave him a grope and Nick laughed again, a little, close enough that Harry could feel his hair move with Nick's breath. "Oh, did I tell you Alessandro had some fabric in the studio last week that had, like, an abstract aubergine design? I couldn't tell if he didn't know, or if he knew and that was the point."

Nick nodded. "A man of mystery."

"He's so, like." Harry sighed and sat up, cross-legged. Nick was still all spread out on the bed, legs loose and easy, one arm lying where he'd been touching Harry so casually. Harry scooted closer so his knee was pressed against Nick's thigh: he didn't want to lose the contact. "You see clothing on the mannequin, right? And it looks good. And then he puts you in it and it's like. It looks completely different. Like, it's got my body inside of it now, and it fits differently and it moves when I move. Like he just knew what it would do when it was on my body. I don't know how someone can see that."

"That sounds fun," Nick said. "Maybe I can come to a fitting sometime? After the Gala," he added quickly, staving off Harry's protest.

"I'd like that," Harry said. "Though you'd have to not touch me. I don't think it's made to fit when I'm hard."

Nick nodded and pursed his lips. "And we could have sex in front of Alessandro, if you want," Nick said.

Harry stared at him. "Sorry?" he said.

"Every time we talk you tell me something about Alessandro looking at you," Nick said. "And I can tell you like it. I'm just saying. If you want to, like, fuck me in front of him, I'm up for it. He's hot. Like Cousin It, but make it fashion."

"Cousin what?" Harry said.

"Cousin It," Nick said. "The Addams Family?"

"I haven't seen that." Nick made one of his "I'm dating a child" groans. Harry grinned and let one hand rest on Nick's thigh. "Anyway," Harry said loudly, "I'm not sure how his boyfriend would feel about it."

"Have you seen yourself?" Harry felt himself blushing even before Nick added, "His boyfriend would want to watch, too."

"Nick! I don't want to have sex in front of Alessandro!" Or, at least, he didn't want to do that enough to actually do it. Even when Alessandro was fitting the tight high waist of his Met Gala trousers around Harry's abs. It was as close to a corset as he felt comfortable wearing in public.

"Cool," Nick said. "More for me."

" _All_ for you, baby," Harry said, gesturing to himself.

Nick hummed in agreement and leered at him, just how Harry liked it. "Does he know you're going to come out on the red carpet?"

It hit Harry like a wave, that statement, bold and easy coming out of Nick's mouth, but hard and overwhelming by the time it reached Harry's ears. Come out on the red carpet. "Yes," Harry said. "I didn't want to, like. Distract from the event. So I asked."

Nick nodded, and Harry knew he would have supported him, approved of him, either way, but he also felt like Nick thought he'd done the right thing. "And he's sure it won't be distracting?"

"I'm going to talk to one specific reporter, say one thing, and move on. She's already been briefed." Harry smiled and squeezed Nick's thigh, where his hand kept gravitating. "And I know you'll be waiting for me inside, so that's easier."

"Do you know what you're going to say?"

"Just that, like, I was proud to be asked so I could represent the LGBT community. LGBTQ?" he said, suddenly. "Or—another acronym. Or queer?" Fuck, he thought he'd had it all decided, but now with Nick right in front of him—who'd been out so long, who knew so much—

"LGBTQ," Nick said, "if you can say the Q without sounding as awkward as you just did." Harry could tell by his whole face that he wasn't making fun of him—or at least, not more than he knew Harry would like. 

"LGBTQ," Harry said deliberately.

Pushing his thigh up into Harry's hand, Nick said, "Good. You could use one of the longer ones if you wanted—I've always liked QUILTBAG, myself—but I think you'll do fine with LGBTQ."

Harry laughed. "Quiltbag?"

"Queer, undecided, intersex, lesbian, trans, bi, ace, gay," Nick rattled off. "It makes a word and shit."

"Cool."

"But nobody would know what you mean."

"I'll tell them to ask Ezra Miller, he's better at explaining this stuff." Nick laughed at him again, kindly. "You know, it's weird," Harry said, "this feels, like—I feel like I'm part of the LGBTQ community having this conversation."

He'd paused at the end of that without really meaning to, so Nick filled in, "That's good, baby. I know you haven't always been comfortable." It didn't have teeth, by now: that had been two breakups ago. At least the next one had been Nick's fault. But still. 

"More than when I'm, like, sucking your dick," Harry clarified. Nick's eyebrows went up again. "Even though that's, like, way more gay than this. Because that's not political, that's just—that's just that I love you."

Nick sat up to kiss him, and Harry let him take his time with it. Harry was well on his way to hard again by the time Nick pulled back. "But this is okay?" Nick said. "The—political stuff?"

Harry tilted his head from side to side. Consider things, don't just answer rashly, he told himself again. "It's better than not doing it," he said finally. "It doesn't feel like me. Exactly. But other people will always bring it up. And I feel better when people know. That I'm with you, and what that means."

Nick's fingers were on his face, cupping his jaw. "I really admire how brave you are," Nick said, and that was a wave too, but one that filled him up with light. Nick didn't go in for sincerity all that often. "You know that, right? Like, I love you," and it never got old to hear that and never would, "but you're also just so—" Nick bit his lip and then grinned at him. "Harry Styles, I'm so in awe of you."

It was Harry who kissed Nick, that time, and didn't stop for ages.

***

Nick had already been inside the Institute for over an hour by the time Harry and Alessandro started up the red—well, the pink—carpet. Nick had gone back and forth on that decision for a while: by rights as Harry's date, he could have come in as part of Harry's entourage, but he wouldn't have got his own red carpet moment. Instead, he'd gone early in the proceedings—later than his minuscule American fame had earned him, thanks to Harry's pull, but still early enough that he seemed like a normal invitee. They wanted people to know he was Harry's date, but only after Harry had made his announcement.

At least they'd be seated together for dinner.

Nick had been sending him an endless stream of texts about everyone's outfits that Harry had barely been able to keep up with in moments snatched from makeup, hair, nails, jewelry, a last-minute check of the fit, primping and polishing. He'd never done a red carpet quite on this scale, even if his prep paled in comparison to what Alessandro was going through: his hair alone had taken over an hour. Harry had rarely been so glad he'd decided to keep his own hair short. 

Harry took a deep breath, readying himself to turn the corner into the scrum of photographers and journalists. He did a quick inventory of how he was feeling. All his clothing seemed to be in the right place. His earring was a dull throb in his ear, which wasn't bad, exactly, and the trousers were tight around his waist in just the right way: he felt great and couldn't wait for Nick to see him. Not exactly ready to come out, but as ready as he thought he'd be. He glanced over at Alessandro, who gave him a slow acknowledging nod, and they stepped forward together.

He was familiar with the brilliant blinding flash of cameras, and he stopped and posed and walked, separately and with Alessandro, through the bottom part of the carpet. Since fashion was the point, this red carpet was a lot slower, and a lot longer, than Harry was used to. He tried to be less nervous: he'd prepared with his team, he looked great, Alessandro was next to him and Nick was waiting inside.

"Liza looks very nice," Alessandro leaned into him to say. "That's good. Lots of people will see this interview."

"Thank you, that's comforting."

Alessandro raised his eyebrows, touched Harry briefly on the shoulder, and went over to pose for a different set of cameras. Harry was _pretty_ sure he'd been teasing.

In fact, Liza did look very nice, all in silver with her hair pulled back into some kind of contraption that looked like it had taken even longer to put together than Alessandro's. She had great energy, too, as Harry had known from the one-on-one prep they'd done the week before. "How you doin', Mr Harry Styles?" she asked as he walked up, a perfect professional, no sign she was about to help Harry make a big announcement. Just what he wanted.

"Good, nice to see you," he said, and they were off to the races, discussing the Gala, complimenting outfits. 

Time telescoped down, and he knew it was only a few seconds, but it felt like forever until he managed to say the word "camp," and she followed with the standard question: "What does camp mean to you? How would you define camp?"

"Um, to me, I mean, I think it's about enjoyment and about fun. No judgment. And, um, I dunno, having fun with clothes. I think fashion is supposed to be fun," he said. Safe ground so far, and something he really believed. He could see Alessandro nodding out of the corner of his eye where he'd washed up to watch the interview.

"Yeah, and that's who you are."

"And that's what it's all—" he continued, before realising she'd just given him the perfect opening. "And I think it's a good time for that right now as well, people being who they are." She was nodding along with him, looking encouraging. "As a member of the LGBTQ community myself," he said, and the world didn't end, "it's great to see so many people so free to be themselves on this red carpet."

"Now, you are a style icon for so many," Liza continued calmly. He was going to have to figure out a really, really nice present to send her. "Who's Harry Styles' style icon?"

Now that the scary bit was out of the way, he felt almost lost. He'd been trying to stand to show off the outfit, but he found himself stroking his stomach as he said, "Uh....this guy," looking over at Alessandro, who was beaming a meter away on the carpet.

Liza turned to him instantly, bless her. "Right here. Alessandro Michele! Please come on in! Welcome back!"

Alessandro stepped over, so close they were almost touching, and Harry smiled, grateful for his support. "Oh thank you, thank you. It's a pleasure as always. And I'm coming with a friend, you know?" He glanced at Harry, and Harry smiled back broadly. Liza made an encouraging noise as he continued, "And it's always beautiful to go to a party with a friend."

He watched Alessandro exchange a few more pleasantries with Liza, and briefly showed off his nails, and that was it: he was done. Everything seemed too bright and too loud for the last few steps into the museum, where Nick was waiting for him. He'd obviously been watching, and the first thing Harry noticed was Nick's huge bright grin as Harry walked up to him.

The second thing he noticed was the trousers.

Harry stopped dead to take him in. The trousers were very, very noticeable—sparkly and hot pink. And he was wearing silver platform heels under that with a surprisingly big heel. His head felt a little too stuffed to fully appreciate the graphic T-shirt and print jacket Nick was wearing, but he'd take a better look at dinner when things had calmed down. He must have looked as overwhelmed as he felt, because Nick stepped forward and hugged Harry, very gently. "Proud of you," he said softly into Harry's ear. "And now you've got chair thingies to do, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He pulled back, but he was still holding Nick's hand, he noticed, and made himself let go. 

"Go on, then, I'll be waiting. Oh—Harry?" he added, as Harry turned to go.

"Yeah?"

"You look _well_ fit," he said in his most Northern tones, so that Harry was giggling as he walked off to perform his hosting duties.

As they worked their way through dinner, and then headed off to change, and then headed to the afterparty, Harry kept thinking: Nick was hot and sweet and perfect, and Nick was _his_ , publicly claimed in a way Harry took so long to picture, first because he seemed so far beyond what Harry was, and then because—all the other stuff, how hard it was to make it work, how the media treated Harry. But. Fuck. He was so in love and he got to do that in public now.

Mark Ronson let Nick have the tables for a couple of songs, and Harry leant against the equipment, grinning like he was 17 again and Nick had brought him along to a gig. And then snogged him when he was done, the way he'd always wanted to, while Mark and Alexa whooped and clapped, and he didn't give a fuck if anyone saw.

***

"And I held onto _this_ piece of news for when you got back," Sinéad said into the microphone, her brown eyes sparking across the table at Nick and Harry. "Monday night was the Costume Institute Gala, otherwise known as the Met Gala, one of the year's major fashion events. This is a ball put on by the editor of Vogue in the U.S., Anna Wintour, as a fundraiser. It's always themed, and as a guest you're supposed to dress to honour the theme. This year's theme was Camp: Notes on Fashion."

"Don't know why you saved that for me, I'm not camp at all," Nick interrupted, grin big enough to hear in his voice.

Sinéad wagged her finger at him. "Don't give it away! Anyway, hundreds of attendees from the world of fashion and entertainment were there. Some of the top looks included Lady Gaga, who went through four costume changes on her way up the pink carpet—"

"Four, that's mental!"

"—rapper Cardi B who wore a quilted and feathered maroon dress with a large train and some rather, shall we say, anatomical designs on the front, actor Billy Porter who wore a gold bodysuit with wings and was carried in on a litter by six shirtless male attendants—"

"Oooh, yes please."

"—and the actor Ezra Miller, from the recent Harry Potter films, who—well, I'm just going to tell the listeners that they should look up a photo of Ezra Miller at the Met Gala, because it's pretty impressive but I'm not sure I can describe it."

"It was well weird. You should listen to Sinéad, listeners, and go find a photo." Nick started tapping on his phone, probably looking for a picture to tweet.

"And now we get to the fun part," Sinéad said. "Every year, there are 'co-chairs' who help host the event. This year's co-chairs included Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, Gucci's creative director Alessandro Michele, and friend of the show Mr. Harry Styles."

Fondly, Nick said, "Aw, he's turned out well, hasn't he?" Harry punched him lightly in the arm and Nick wrinkled his nose at him in a grin.

"And Harry had an announcement during an interview on the pink carpet."

She played a clip of him saying he was part of the LGBTQ community. Harry still felt a little conspicuous, even in this studio full of people he knew, but they were all smiling at him so it was all right.

"Later, he was photographed sitting at dinner with a male companion, and _speculation says_ "—she gave that a lot of emphasis, Harry thought—"that said male companion was his date. And who was that male companion?"

"Oh, that was me, Sinéad!"

"Would you care to confirm or deny those rumours, Mr Grimshaw?" Harry could already see the stream of texts picking up on the monitor, and getting a lot more capitalized.

"Perhaps we should let Mr Styles confirm or deny. Harry?"

"Hullo!" Harry said as brightly as he could.

"Would you like to confirm or deny these rumours that we're dating?"

"Well, as you know," Harry said, "I've always wanted to date a handsome radio DJ, and since Annie Mac wouldn't have me—"

Sinéad squeaked with laughter.

"—guess I have to settle for you." Harry grinned. "Sorry, listeners, he's off the market."

Unfortunately, Harry was going to have to wait until the end of the segment to kiss Nick, no matter how dopey-eyed he looked smiling at Harry right at the moment. 

"So," Sinéad said, "in that interview clip, you said you were part of the LGBTQ community. Do you have a more specific term you'd like us to use?"

Harry said, "Hmm," to give himself a moment to think, and then said, "No, I don't think so. Not right now, anyway."

"All right. Well, congratulations, you two, and thanks for giving me the most exciting entertainment news I've ever had!"

"Thanks, Sinéad!" Nick said, and Harry added, "Thank _you_."

"Anyway, enough of that sappy stuff. Ew! Here's Vossi Bop." 

As he dropped into Nick's lap, Harry said, "I only get one song's worth of snogging?"

Nick brushed Harry's hair back from his face. "Less than that, we don't want to traumatise the staff," he said, not looking away from Harry's eyes. "But hey, we're public, you're stuck with me now. As much snogging as you want."

"Infinite snogging, right." Harry limited himself to a peck, since Nick really was at work, but he thought: as much as I want, and smiled.


End file.
